


Waltz of the Dearly Beloved

by lunaire



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Harry Potter was Raised by Voldemort, Human Trafficking, M/M, Organized Crime, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 17:35:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8111257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaire/pseuds/lunaire
Summary: At a young age, Harry Potter was sold to the underground auction house in the wizarding world known as "Cocytus" located in the darkest part of London. Unbeknownst to him, Lord Voldemort—who was currently in hiding—decides to buy him and raise him to be his consort. Will Harry accept the darkness that was offered to him? or will he retaliate and turn himself to reach the light?





	1. One Man's Trash is Another Man's Treasure

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to bellebonheur for being my beta and co-conspirators for this story!

It was the first week of Harry's summer holiday, but despite the grey clouds that was looming in the sky he found himself drenched in his own sweat. Gasping for air, he found himself on an empty park and settles himself on a particularly rusty swing. He really don't care if it's going to rain soon—as long as his away for Dudley and his little gang, he can be at peace. It was the usual game of Harry hunting, which involves him (of course) being the target for Dudley, Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon. Harry is getting good at dodging and running away from them, but only now he can successfully ran away from the lot.

He could imagine Dudley whining and throwing a tantrum to Aunt Petunia after he comes come back to Privet Drive, blaming Harry for ruining Dudley's summer holiday while Harry is still soaking wet from the rain and his shoes dirty with mud. Aunt Petunia would then scold him for making her precious _Dinky Duddydums_ cry and soiling the house with filth, but it was a problem he could deal later.

Harry swung his seat lightly and started to hum a tune from commercial that he recently heard on the television. It was a commercial for a brand new chocolate bar, complete with catchy jingle and brightly drawn cartoon characters running about. The moment it came out on the television, Dudley immediately bought a dozen of the chocolate bar (Harry couldn't have any) and ate all of them in one sitting. Unsurprisingly, Dudley got sick afterwards and wasn't able to disturb Harry for two days straight, making it one of the most peaceful moments Harry ever been in. Harry smiles at that memory, and swung his seat again—this time higher.

His fun abruptly ended when Harry heard a distinct _pop_ sounds in the distance. For a moment, Harry began to think that Dudley and his gang actually smart enough to try searching for him around the neighborhood instead of throwing a fit like a big baby. Harry shakes his head; no kids in the neighborhood are brave enough to get close to this park because of the urban legends that circulated among them. Harry is the only one who is brave enough (or desperate enough) to visit this abandoned park, and he was not the kind of person who believes in urban legends—after all, ask any adults and they will tell you that there is no such thing as a _ghost_ can exist, especially in a good and perfectly normal neighborhood like Surrey. 

He's sure that's just a stray cat or some other animal bumping into something. Besides, ghosts don't appear during daytime and even if ghosts _do_ exist, he was sure that he could always run away or something. Harry looks around to check his surroundings. He really is alone.

Sighing, Harry was about to take another swing when suddenly there is a weird-looking man with bandy legs walking towards him with unsteady gait.

_I thought I was alone. There's no way somebody could appear from out of thin air._ Harry can feel the panic rising in him. Harry knew that suspicious people sometimes like to loiter around the park, but this is the first time he was approached by one, a _dangerous one_ it seems. Before he could escape, the man was already in front of him and starts talking to him.

"There you are, kid. I've been looking for you everywhere." His voice was raspy, and his baggy brown eyes were bloodshot. The grimy man smelled strongly of alcohol and tobacco— it disgusts Harry.

"I'm...I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." Harry said, trying to sound brave. He hoped the man would ignore him and go away. But apparently the man thought otherwise, he was stubborn. If anything, he takes a closer look at Harry and stares at his forehead intently. Harry, noticed the weird scar on his forehead being looked at by this stranger, hurriedly covered it with his fringe.

"Don't be silly, I know who you are... _Harry_. I'm your uncle's friend." The man slurred before attempting to smile. The man's word is suspicious as best, and Harry tries his best to defend himself from this man. So he did what he can do at this situation: Harry tries his best to push this man away from him and struggle with all his might. It didn't work of course. Despite being drunk, the man stands still at the spot before letting out an ugly laughter from his mouth.      

"You're goin' to be a fine bloke in Gryffindor, tryin' to fight me and defendin' yourself like that. I have to give you that. But a kid is still a kid, and I can still win against you."

Before Harry could make any sense on what is the man talking about, he saw a jet of scarlet light in front of him before everything fades to black.

 

* * *

 

By any accounts, Mundungus Fletcher is just an average wizard trying to make a living in this dog-eat-dog world. Before he knew it, he was in deep muck of debts with the goblins. So he did what any other man would do in his position: start a business. Except his business is not quite legal, not really. He's not suited to do honest man's job. He tried to do it of course, but it never last long. Even with the help of Albus Dumbledore—a good man that he is—cannot help him out of the gambling addiction and the debts he was in. Naturally he resorts to taking magical artifacts from purebloods and smuggling things, which are easier and more rewarding for him.

But not as much as magical children, though. To be exact, half-blood _and_ muggle-born children.

Being somebody who often deals with the fellows from the underworld of the wizarding community, Mundungus knew that there is a big demand for those children ever since that auction house starts operating in London. He didn't know what the children are for—the only thing he knows, or _need_ to know—is that selling children can give him a thousand galleons if not more. And he still has debts to settle with those people from Romania when he lost the game of cards last night...They are a merciless bunch for putting up deadlines as far as a week to pay the debts.

Mundungus likes to take an aimless stroll once in a while, picking his targets to steal from and such. This time is different, however. He decides to look for any half-blood or muggle-born that he could find, hoping to sell them to the auction house of the underworld. At first, he travels to rural areas in the wizarding world and eventually moved to other areas such as Appleby, Puddlemere, Hogsmeade, and Ottery St. Catchpole before moving to London to find any stray or orphaned magical children. He was running out of time, damn it! He might die if his debt is not paid soon.

In a desperate attempt, he decides to apparate to a certain park in London, hoping that he could find any magical children in the area. It was worth a shot anyway. If he didn't found anybody, he could still look in other places in London, or maybe take a breather. He really needs it after drinking two bottles of firewhiskey and moldy sandwich for lunch.

He saw a boy playing on a swing. Despite the lose-fitting and worn out clothes the boy was wearing, Mundungus was pretty sure the boy was older than seven year old, and might be a half-blood or a muggle-born. He knew this because magical children—whether they are pureblood or not—usually gives a certain spark from their magic core during their early years and hardly can control their magic. To make sure, he decides to cast disillusionment charm on himself to approach the boy.

This kid is not a muggle, alright. He could feel the boy's magic coming in waves. It's weird that nobody noticed it...Well, either way it's not his business. After making sure about his target, Mundungus decides to show himself in front of the boy. The boy was surprised, but he tries to appear calm in front of Mundungus. _How cute_. Mundungus take a closer look at the boy and noticed that the boy has a really unruly black hair, brilliant green eyes, scar on his fore—wait.

Is it what he thought it is? He looks again at the boy's forehead. He almost choked in his own spit when he noticed. A lightning bolt!

Who would know that of all things, his determination to look for magical children to sell to the auction house will land him in front of Harry Potter himself? He ought to congratulate himself on this one, it's just so happens that Lady Luck herself decides to bless him this day. That blasted old squib called Figg always kept her mouth shut whenever he asks about the legendary Boy-Who-Lived. Now Mundungus can see it himself the reason why she never talks about her task of watching the boy.

And as far as his loyalty goes, if he has to choose between his loyalty or saving his own arse, he would chose himself any day. Dumbledore would never lend him thousands of galleons and sure as hell wouldn't someone like him from being killed by a bunch of crazy Romanian wizards. So what if he takes this kid? He-Must-Not-Be-Named is already dead, anyway. It's not really a loss if he sold the boy...Why, the boy himself might even ended up being bought by a good pair of witch and wizard instead of living in shambles like him!

With his newly found determination (and perhaps too much drink on his part), Mundungus did the unthinkable.

He took the Boy Who Lived.


	2. Disappearance

As the one who was tasked by Dumbledore to watch Harry, Arabella Figg has to be vigilant at all times. That is, as far as the Dursleys allowed her to. With the way Harry was treated by the bunch, it's hard to determine if something bad had happened to him—even her precious kneazles can only go so far to take watch over Harry. It was painful to see that the supposed savior of the wizarding world being treated horribly by his own blood relatives, but it pains Arabella even more to be a part of it. She never likes it whenever she has to act around Harry, and looking at the boy getting bored to tears during his visit was a torture. Sometimes she wants to talk to Harry, telling him about how his parents died and how important he is, but she can't.

_It is for Harry's own sake that he cannot know about his position in wizarding world_ , she recalled the words spoken to her by the wise wizard. Dumbledore trusts her, and she can't disappoint Dumbledore. Not after all the good things that he has done for her.

_Perhaps it is for the best_ , she assure herself. _Maybe I'll save Harry some of this chocolate cake that I just baked for his next visit_ , _even though it's a bit hard to chew than usual_.

With that thought, Arabella leaves her house in Wisteria Walk.

The boy is usually seen in the mornings at the garden of Privet Drive number four, his messy black hair sticking out among Petunia's prized begonias. It was different lately though. Arabella haven't seen Harry for a while. It was unusual of the Dursleys to keep the boy for so long inside the house, because at the very least they would pass him off to her whenever they need to have some quiet family time for themselves.

Under the pretense of buying canned food for her knea— _cats_ , Arabella walk past Privet Drive and saw Petunia was busy loading her trunk to the back of the family's car while Vernon was busy talking with Dudley who is visibly upset inside the house. Harry was not seen anywhere. This strikes her as odd, as the Dursleys at least would order Harry around to put their luggage in the car's trunk.

"Good day, Mrs. Dursley—going out for summer vacation?" Arabella started the conversation, hoping to sound friendly.

"Oh! Mrs. Figg. I didn't see you there..." said Petunia, she looks somewhat alarmed by Arabella's sudden appearance.

"Just went out to buy some food for my cats. They like to eat a lot during the summer... maybe the heat makes them hungrier somehow. You know how cats are, Mrs. Dursley." She said, waving the bulky bag to as if to show Petunia her groceries full of canned cat food. "Where's Harry? I could keep an eye for him like usual, if you'd like."

"The boy's not here. He ran away, it seems. Imagine, leaving the house without informing _me_ , his caretaker for years! Not surprising with him being a good-for-nothing and ungrateful boy. If anything, I'm glad that you or I don't have take care of that _freak_ ever again," said Petunia nonchalantly as if nothing big has happened to her.

"What do you mean by—," Arabella's speech was cut, and behind Petunia stood Vernon, his body large and looks ready to explode.

"Are you talking about that boy? We don't deal with him or his troubles anymore. Good riddance, I say. Now stop asking us stupid question and leave! We have places to go," said Vernon. Behind him, Dudley was shouting and making faces at her ("It's the barmy cat lady!" over and over again). 

Resisting the urge to hurl her bag full of canned cat food at them, she fled off the scene. While hurrying to her house, her thoughts are swirling with questions and the feeling of dread. _Why did Harry run away? When did it happen?_

And the most important question; _how am I supposed to tell Dumbledore about this?_

 

* * *

 

War always cost many things. But in turn, something else would grow in place of the wreckage. Cocytus is one of such results. Founded by a devoted Death Eater named Evan Rosier during the height of the First Wizarding War, this place serves as one of the primary source of funds for the group.

From rare and forbidden ingredients for all kinds of potion, magical creatures that deemed to be illegal by the Ministry, dangerous books and artifacts, to human beings ranged from young to old; magical, squib, and muggle alike, dead or alive—this place has it all. It's all thanks to the Ministry of Magic for banning a plenty of items in the common market and the fact that it was the height of Dark Arts in the wizarding world.

Cocytus was famous among dark wizards and witches because the range of the quality goods that it offers. Secrecy and safety for the customers are guaranteed because Cocytus never stays at a definite location and only operates during certain times. This makes it harder to track, in addition of the _fidelius_ charm. However with the end of the First Wizarding War and the disappearance of its founder, many people assumed that Cocytus was closed for business.

That is, until now.

Lord Voldemort eyed the abandoned building in front of him. The architecture looks so painfully _muggle_ -like, with foliage that peek through the cracks and fading white paint on the brick of the wall. There's an old sign that spells "C— THEATRE" above the entrance with the rest of its words missing from the sign. It was the ideal place for Cocytus to held their exhibitions, given the inconspicuous nature of the building and the misconception that dark witches or wizards tend to avoid muggle settlements like plague.

As soon as he stepped into the entrance, the barrier that surrounds the place instantly recognized him as one of the patrons of Cocytus. The surroundings around him began to shift and morphed into something else entirely. A dimly lit corridor made of mirrors stretched before him, with its floating candlelight that serves as a guide to the auction room. Before reaching his destination, two guards wearing a black cloak and long-nosed harlequin mask whispers in unison:

"Password?"

_"Audi, vide, tace, si vis vivere in pace._ " Voldemort said the words smoothly. The password was rather fitting, he thought. _Hear, see, be silent, if you would live in peace_ ; it serves as a subtle reminder to the patrons that anyone who dares to report the existence of this auction house will meet a timely end.

"Thank you, sir."

The door opens to reveal the room behind it. The interior reminds him of a weird mix between chapel and theatre, with its statues of angels and religious icons placed above where the orchestra ought to be and the boxes that looked like it was used as a confessional placed in the corner. The stage in the center of the room was covered with heavy red velvet curtain, hiding the goods that are waiting to be sold in the upcoming auction. The place was packed with wizards and witches sitting in the wooden pews and the seat in the balcony above, all of them wearing colorful masks and dark-colored cloaks. Of course, anonymity is another valued policy within Cocytus. It doesn't matter who or what the patron is—in here, the only thing that matters are your money.

He too, wore a black velvet half-mask adorned with gold serpent that slither around the mask lazily. Along with his dark emerald-green robes and his current state, Lord Voldemort looks quite _normal_. With the exception of the crimson eyes, his body and face are taking the appearance of his twenty-year-old self. After taking a look around the theatre, a man with a silver skeleton mask approached him and ushered him the way to the special balcony near the stage, allowing him to see a rather nice view of the theatre. 

Only few members of his inner circle knew about his return. One of them being Rosier. He always regard Rosier as one of his most capable lieutenant, a useful pawn to be had. As soon as the whole wizarding world announced his... _fall_ , Rosier swiftly went into hiding and gathered the remaining loyalists to wait for his return.

Not all of them are as loyal as Voldemort thought however. Some of his followers, like the Malfoys and Igor Karkaroff, were quick to announce that they were being imperiused during his reign. He planned to give them his forgiveness, but as soon as he knew the whereabouts of _Harry Potter_ , the boy who become his bane and the root of his downfall—was living with a muggle family with only a squib to keep an eye on him, he had a drastic change of plan. Dumbledore clearly haven't learned his lesson, with the way he treated his own champion.

"My Lord, the auction is about to begin," whispers the man with skeleton mask, effectively breaking his train of thoughts.

"Very good, Rosier. Proceed everything as I planned."

 

* * *

 

Albus Dumbledore found Arabella sobbing in front of the entrance of his office at Hogwarts. Hagrid was standing beside her, tentatively trying to comfort her by lending his large polka-dot handkerchief.

It was unusual for Arabella to come to him, unless... 

"I told yeh, yer be fine Mrs. Figg. Professor Dumbledore's 'ere," Hagrid said awkwardly, "Professor Dumbledore, sir, I found 'er crying like this. She said she only want to talk to yeh."

Hearing this, Arabella wail louder than before. "Oh it's terrible... _terrible_. I'm so sorry Albus," she sobbed before blowing her nose rather noisily on Hagrid's handkerchief.

"Thank you Hagrid, for staying with Arabella until I'm here. You may go." Taking his cue, Hagrid leaves without taking his handkerchief. "And Arabella, why don't you calm down first and follow me to my office? We can talk over there if you want, I've just got myself a good tea from my friend in India, it'll help you calm your nerves."

Arabella could only nod at this, before blowing her nose again. With Arabella trailing behind him, Albus spoke the password to the gargoyle ( _Pepper Imps_ ) before allowing Arabella and himself to enter. After Arabella was seated in front of him, he summoned a tea set along with a tray of assorted cakes to his desk.

"I-It's about Harry," said Arabella with a start, "The D-Dursleys said that he's gone. Ran away, they said. I-I'm so sorry Albus..." she sobbed again. "I did check again with Mr. Tibbles, Tufty, Snowy, and Mr. Paws around the neighborhood... he's nowhere to be found."

"And how long has Harry been missing?"

"I-It's about four or five days, I think...I didn't notice it at first because I thought he was being grounded by the Dursleys."

Dumbledore silently pours the tea to his cup with his magic and did the same for Arabella before offering it silently to her. Arabella chose to drink her tea with milk and two cubes of sugar before taking the treacle tart. She looks much calmer now that she already talked to him.

_To think that Harry's been missing...What could've happened to him? They boy was only eight years old. He doubted that Harry could go far on his own without being lost._

"Don't worry, Arabella. We'll find him."

No matter what happens, he must keep his wits about him. Any wrong move and it'll be over for him— _no, not just him_ — the Order and the wizarding world as well. It was his idea for leaving Harry with the Dursleys in the first place, counting on the wards and the magic surrounding the house. He did gamble on his faith with the Dursleys, believing them and the wards surrounding their house on Privet Drive to be a source of safety for Harry.

"Arabella, I want you to stay at Little Whinging to look for clues. Search a little bit farther than Harry's house—to the nearest park, school, or any other public places in the area—perhaps we will find a lead there. I will help you later after I finished making arrangements for Hogwarts." Arabella finally stopped eating her treacle tart after hearing this solution, and starting to nod enthusiastically at his every word.

"We _will_ find him." He repeated again, softer this time, as if to assure himself as well. Dumbledore savor his tea slowly afterwards, his strained nerves started to ease a little by the aromatic drink.

He really have to find Harry quick, otherwise Albus Dumbledore could not forgive himself.


	3. Deal with the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, there's going to be a rather graphic torture in this chapter. I hope you guys are not too squeamish about it...
> 
> Other than that, thank you for reading~

His decision to sold Harry Potter to the auction house was definitely the right call, Mundungus thought to himself while patting his pocket full of galleons. One of the agents from the auction house bought Harry on the spot and leaving him with not only two thousand galleons, but with an extra five hundred sickle and two hundred knut as an added bonus. It was more than he ever earned so far.

The money was more than enough for him to pay his debts to the Romanian wizards. Not to mention, it could supply him with a really good firewhisky for an entire month or two, perhaps he can even visit the knocking shop regularly to cure his lonely nights. He will then start to play cards again at the gambling house, doubling his profit with his gambling skill. It was better than trusting the goblins and their ugly mug. He never stores his money in Gringgots and prefers to spend it outright rather than getting tricked by them again.

All the things that he can do with his newly acquired money made him euphoric. He was so deep in his fantasy that he didn't notice that the Romanian wizard was slamming the bottles down to the table with a loud _thud._

"One bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky for you, and one bottle of Superior Red Wine for me," said the stranger with a smile. "Do you want a glass for that?" Mundungus automatically shakes his head before taking the uncorked bottle. "Seriously, what kind of bloody pansy that drank firewhiskey from glass?" said Mundungus. The blond wizard in front of Mundungus only laughs at his reply and summoned a pristine wine glass for him to use.

"Here's to the paid debts and a job well done, Fletcher," said the man while raising his glass. The man was too friendly and relaxed for his own liking, but Mundungus decided to play along and raised his bottle before taking a big gulp. This is _the_ time for celebration after all, and for once Mundungus in his pathetic life felt like he'd done something right.

They were meeting in a bar called The Dromedary that was located in the outskirts of London. It was the ideal place for dodgy deals because most of the costumers were too busy minding themselves to care; in fact, Mundungus wouldn't be too surprised if the other customers in the bar were as shady as he was.

The only one that looked out of place in this den of crooks was the young Romanian wizard in front of him. Maybe it was the weird, mismatched blue-brown color of his eyes and the white silk gloves that he was wearing, or the attitude of the man that screams pureblood makes him stood out from the others. It was not the kind of man that Mundungus can hang around with, except on unusual times like these.

 Even among the other Romanian wizards that played cards with Mundungus last week, this man was the only one that sticks in his mind because of his striking appearance. That, and the fact that he was the only one who didn't threaten to kill Mundungus if he didn't pay his debts after his losing streak.

"Your name," said Mundungus while taking another gulp straight from the bottle, the familiar burn of the alcohol fills his parched throat.

"Pardon?" said the man, looking surprised.

"You never told me what your name was." Mundungus didn't even know why he even bothered asking, he was equally surprised as his own action. "It was only fair since you know my name and I don't know yours," he hesitantly added.

"You've got a point there, Fletcher. My friends called me Pyrites," said the young man with a jovial smile. "I suppose this calls for another toast, no?"

Time passed quickly as they exchanged conversations and laughter. Apparently, Pyrites was born in England before his family decided to move away to Romania, and the group that traveled with him was his lifelong friends who wanted to see his birthplace. Right now he was acting as the go-between for them because they were too busy doing something else in Diagon Alley.

Despite his proper upbringing, Pyrites didn't shy away from talking vulgar topics and even shared of his own tale of misadventures with him. Before Mundungus realized it, he already drank five bottles of firewhiskey while Pyrites only finished half bottle of his red wine.

"Y-Ya hafta drink more, Pyrites," slurred Mundungus. His face was red as a beet from drinking too much, and he can feel that he's going to have a really nasty case of hangover after this meeting.

"I'm afraid I can't. I have work to do tonight," replied Pyrites before taking the last sip of his wine.

"Fine, suit yerself," at this point Mundungus was already too drunk to care and without realizing it, had fall asleep hugging his almost empty firewhiskey bottle.

 

* * *

 

After making sure that the pathetic excuse of a wizard already fell asleep, Pyrites grabbed the man before apparating to his hideout. It was always the easiest when his prey was a drunkard—he just only have to wait until the intended victim makes a fool out of themself by lulling them into a false sense of security. He doesn't even need a wand, potions, or brute force to do it. Which makes things even more boring than it already is... that's why he has to spice things up even _more_. It’s sufficed to say that he was looking forward to his work tonight.

When he arrived at the basement of their hideout, a dark-haired figure greeted him near the stairs.

"I see that you've finally start doing your work, Julius. Took you long enough." The man was busy choosing a book to read from the huge dusty shelf.

"The bastard won't stop blabbering, for Merlin's sake. It took exactly five bottles of firewhiskey to shut him up," said Pyrites. He was waving his wand here and there, moving the drunkard around before settling the body to the sturdy pole made of oak. Pyrites then hanged both of the hands above the man's head and binds his feet, making him look just like a pig that was ready to be gutted.

"What are _you_ doing here of all places, Regulus? I thought you were busy these days," he asked his senior.

"I've finished my assignments earlier than I planned, so I might as well stopped by your place to check." The man called Regulus settled on picking an old book titled _Ars Moriendi_ before sitting on the mahogany chair near Pyrites.

"How thoughtful of you," said Pyrites, now removing his outer robes and rolling up the shirt's sleeves. He didn't remove his white gloves of course. After all, the point of wearing it was to get the gloves stained with blood. It was just a little hobby of his.

"You forgot to remove his clothes," Regulus points out before opening up the book and began reading. Pyrites rolled his eyes and do as he was told. An unpleasant smell began to emanate from the unconscious man, and Pyrites reflexively scrunched up his face.

"Oh Merlin, this bastard smells _disgusting_. Worse than dragon's dung," said Pyrites before retrieving his tools from the rack. Regulus only laughed at his statement.

"Which one do you think should I use?" he asks while displaying his tools on the table for Regulus to see. "Do you think I should use the potion of _Aqua fortis_ instead these tools?"

"Julius, do I need to remind you that the last time you used that potion you turned your victim into an unrecognizable lump of flesh? Our leader wasn't pleased back then," said Regulus.

"Oh, _fine_. I'll just use my usual tools then. You're such a killjoy, Regulus." Pyrites said jokingly. Behind the book, Regulus only grins in response.

"Well then, it's time to get started," said Pyrites.

Pyrites casts a powerful _aguamenti_ spell towards Mundungus a few times, forcing him awake in a disoriented state while sputtering the water from his mouth.

"W-What's goin' on? Pyrites?" said Mundungus.

If the man looked pathetic before, this time he looked downright worthless. Seeing the man naked, drenched, and spitting water from his mouth after waking up from a drunken stupor only incites the further disgust that Pyrites had for the man. And with that, his appetite to torture this swine grew larger.

"I see that you just woke up, Fletcher," said Pyrites with a smile.

"Is this some kind of sick joke? It ain't funny, Pyrites!" spat Mundungus, looking very much sober compared to their early meeting. "Take this off and give me back my clothes!" The bastard keep wriggling his body around like a worm and won't stop screaming. He's not even got to the good part yet! But it doesn't matter; he already used to hear this bastard's voice during their exchange at the pub. If this idiot wants to scream, then he will gave a _real_ reason to scream about.

Holstering his wand, Pyrites took a particularly sharp silver dagger with rune carvings from the table before slashing Mundungus' left cheek. Fresh blood instantly came out from the gaping wound, dripping to the wet floor. Mundungus began whimpering and started to plead. But all of it became nothing but a static noise to Pyrites.

"Did you know that—," began Pyrites, "Chinese muggle used to have this execution method called _Death by a Thousand Cuts_?" he began pulling Mundungus' right ear and sliced it clean, a piercing scream and a spurt of blood follows suit. Mocking his still-living victim, he dangles the severed ear in front of Mundungus before throwing it to the floor.

"Please, I'll do anythin' that you want—," begged Mundungus.

"It was a punishment reserved for someone who committed high treason," he continued, ignoring the empty plea. "I know, I know... you must think I'm _barbaric_ for resorting to muggle methods. But that's exactly why it's fun isn't it?" he let out a laugh before pulling Mundungus' left ear. "Anyway," This time the poor sod began crying and begged harder, "They cut off the limbs one by one like this—," he sliced off the left ear and another cry follows, "before leaving them to die like some butchered animal."

"I didn't do anythin' wrong, please don't kill me..." said Mundungus weakly. Both of the side of his face was bleeding badly now, and he can only drop his head down in fear.

"Really? I thought you told me that you recently sold an _orphan_ to pay off your debts to me and my friends," said Pyrites with a hint of amusement apparent in his voice. He wasn't a good man himself, but at least he wasn't the type to deny his own crimes.

Mundungus let out a loud sob before talking, "A-are you one of them people that was secretly sent by Dumbledore to punish me? Is that it?"

"Me? Working for that senile old man?" he roared with laughter. "Regulus, this idiot thinks I'm working for Dumbledore!" Pyrites pushed his hair back before facing the man that sat near him.

Regulus, who was unperturbed by the whole scene finally looked up from his book and casted a silencing charm towards Mundungus. "Focus on your work, Julius," and he resumed his reading. If anything, Regulus seems to be annoyed by all the wailing made by Mundungus. Pyrites couldn't blame him for that, the fool _do_ have the talent to piss people off.

Pyrites shrugs before switching his dagger with a pair of sharp metal pliers from the table and continue his work. "Well since you asked so nicely, _Fletcher._ I'm going to answer—," he pried Mundungus' mouth open and grabbed his tongue using the pliers. "No, I'm not working for that old codger, I am in fact—," he pulled Mundungus' bleeding tongue until it was completely protruding from his mouth, "Working for someone much, _much_ , more powerful than him." Pyrites can see his own reflection in the bastard's eyes. Maybe he's going to take it both next, he contemplated briefly.

"I'm working for the Dark Lord," and after uttering this sentence, Pyrites pulled the tongue _hard_ before severing it from his fear-stricken victim.

Seeing his victim's eyes full of fear and tears sends a shiver to his spine. He really ought to show his gratitude towards the Dark Lord for giving him such a fulfilling job like these. Come to think of it, this scum is also the reason why he was able to kill again. Pyrites licks his lips before leaning over to Mundungus, whispering the perfect word for his victim:

"And _thanks to you_ , now he will be stronger than ever because you handed Harry Potter to him _._ "

With his voice taken by magic and his tongue gone, Mundungus looks like a fish that had just been taken out from the water. He was lowering his head once more while his bound body slightly shakes; he was undoubtedly lamenting the situation he was in.

This is going to be a long, _long_ night—and Pyrites was going to enjoy each and every second of it.

 

* * *

 

Harry woke up in a daze. His head was still pounding when he realized that in the corner of the bed he was sleeping in, there was a blurry figure with gleaming red eyes that towers over him, watching. Surprised, he backs off from his spot until his body hit the wooden headboard.

"Hello, Harry. Did you get a good night's sleep?" asked the mysterious figure.

The voice of the man before him was soothing. But with his pale complexion and the dark clothes he was wearing, Harry thought that the Grim Reaper itself had greeted him from the edge of his bed.

Bed. He was sleeping on a _bed_ , he realizes. Not just an ordinary bed either, but it was one of those four-poster bed complete with matching emerald colored drapes, blanket, and canopy instead of his usual cot in the cupboard under the stairs.

With the absence of the dusty cupboard and the familiar cobwebs that decorated his little room, he knew that all of the things that happened to him in the past days are not just a bad dream. Harry inwardly scolds himself for admiring the bed like an idiot instead of checking out his surroundings beforehand.

"Who are you? And how did you know my name?" he finally asked, his eyes still squinting to get a better view of the man. The man in front of him _does_ have red eyes, but he still wasn't so sure since he wasn't wearing his glasses.

"Ah, yes. How rude of me not to introduce myself. My name is Marvolo," the man introduced himself. "As how I know your name... I'm sure that you know the reason behind that, don't you?"

Of course, how could Harry forget? It was the most helpless situation that ever happened to him. After meeting that weird man at the park and blacking out, the next thing he knew was he was trapped in an iron cage with his feet bound in a shackle for a few days like a prisoner. At that point Harry realized that he was kidnapped and was brought to a dangerous place.

In that place, he saw a lot of people getting trapped in various cages, most of them didn't get the same treatment as Harry did—a single cage can fit three to five people from young to old, man or woman... and all of them have the same grim expression. If one of them speaks or started crying, the guards would take out their wooden stick and lights would came out from it before the poor prisoner screamed in pain and passed out.

While he was used to being kept in small spaces and getting punished, he can't stand to see other people being treated badly. Harry did try to stop them from hurting the other prisoners, but the guards would only laugh when they saw him shaking the cage and shouting before getting back to their posts and continuing their game of cards.

All of that ended after one day Harry was awake only to be dragged to a stage, his hands and feet bound with cuffs before hearing his name announced by some stranger and for his scar to be displayed for everyone to see—those people looked creepy with their dark robes and masks, and every each and every one of them was holding a white sign with weird symbols in it.

The only next thing that Harry remembers was how quick and loud the person beside him was talking, while the crowd in front of him starts to raise their signs until the person stops their talking and hit the gong on the stage. There was a long silence before a masked man took him from it all. And now here he was, sitting in a bed alone with someone named Marvolo... was this man is the same person that took him from that awful place?

"Are you the one who took me from that stage?" asked Harry. He was wary of this man, if this _Marvolo_ did turn out to be the one who took him, that means he must act quickly and get away from this place.

"I didn't take you, Harry. I _bought_ you here," answers Marvolo.

His heart sank when he heard that word. Besides getting kidnapped, he was being sold too? His mind immediately flew to that time when he went to the library and read a story about people being sold as slaves (not that his life with the Dursleys were any different, Harry realized) and that one time when Dudley tried to scare him by saying that one day Harry will die alone on a street without anybody looking for him.

Is this how will his life end, then? The Dursleys wouldn't care if he went missing; he doubt that Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon would even bother asking the police to find him. Even if he did ran away from here, where would he end up? The Dursleys surely don't want him back at Privet Drive. Dudley was right; maybe he would die here in the hand of a stranger. _Alone_.

The thought of dying alone without nobody even bother looking for him makes his heart hurts. But at the same time, he was angry. Angry at his aunt and uncle for being so unkind to him all the time, angry at the weird man at the park for kidnapping him, angry at this stranger in front of him for buying him like some...some sort of _pet_ —

"Are you going to make me do chores and beat me up? Like how my Aunt and Uncle forces me to do things like a slave?" said Harry. His small body was slightly shaking as he said it because he was trying to prevent himself from bursting with anger.

"Harry—"

"Or maybe treating me like some sort of pet for fun?" it was no use; he was starting to shout at each word. "TELL ME!" Harry threw the pillow beneath him and missed, his breathing became erratic as the crushing weight of everything came down on him all at once.

"Harry, calm down and take a deep breath. I'm not finished talking yet."

It was hard for him not throwing another pillow to Marvolo's face, but he did as he was told. If there is anything he learned from his time at Privet Drive, throwing a tantrum would only earned him a beating and no meals, and he didn't want to cause further trouble after knowing that the man in front of him is the one who _bought_ him from that place. After a minute of controlling his breathing, Harry managed to calm down and Marvolo decided to continue where he left off.

"I'm not going to make you work like a slave, Harry. You don't have to do chores because I already have servants to fulfill my needs. Moreover, I'm not going to treat you like a pet since I don't see the benefit of doing that," said Marvolo.

His anger was slowly disappearing when he heard Marvolo saying those words. Perhaps he wasn't as bad as Harry thought?

"I bought you because I want to make you my apprentice, Harry."

"Apprentice?" Harry was confused. As far as he can see, Marvolo looked a bit too young to be a teacher.

"Yes, and I'm going to teach you magic," answers Marvolo. He took out an item wrapped in handkerchief from his pocket and opened it, revealing a broken round glasses that belongs to Harry. "Here, watch this."

Despite his doubt, Harry scoots closer to Marvolo. The man took out a wooden stick (wand?) and starts to wave it to his glasses. In a matter of seconds, the broken shards were glued back together and the bent frames were straightened. It looks like it was a brand new glasses instead of his old one that's already broken and held back by sellotape. Harry looked at Marvolo in wonder.

"Is there any strange things that ever happened to you, Harry?" Marvolo asks, handing him the repaired glasses.

"Well... I guess so. I managed to grow all my hair back in one night when my Aunt gave me this dreadful haircut using her kitchen scissors...She was mad at me back then." said Harry, putting his glasses back on. "And then there's this one time where I ended up on the school roof when my cousin and his gang tried to chase me."

"You see, Harry, that was an accidental magic, every wizard or witch will show those signs when they were a child," said Marvolo.

It does explain everything, the weird things that keep happening to him, the way his Aunt and Uncle trying to avoid him like plague because of his freakishness...

"You're no ordinary child, Harry. You're just like me; a wizard."

 A wizard. The word echoes in his mind—he wasn't an ordinary person? Wizards and witches is something that he always read in a story, but he didn't know that they really existed in this world.

"So I can cast spells and stuff, like you?" he asks, tilting his head slightly.

Marvolo chuckles at his response, "Yes, Harry. You can cast spells and stuff," he folds his handkerchief and put it back to his breast pocket, "But first, you have to get a wand to do it. That means you have to be eleven years old to get your first wand," said Marvolo. "How old are you now, Harry?"

"I'm eight years old," he was a little disappointed when he heard that he have to be eleven years old to have a wand. "But Marvolo, if I can't get my wand then what am I supposed to do?" asks Harry.

"If you want to read a book, you have to learn the alphabet, right? Magic is just the same, Harry. I'm going to teach you from the basic first," answers Marvolo.

"So what do you say, Harry? Do you want to be my apprentice?"

Harry was more than thrilled to discover that he has the potential to cast spells, not to mention that he was going to be tutored by another wizard who he assume is knowledgeable. That means he can start to learn on how to defend himself, perhaps that way he wouldn't end up being helpless ever again.

"Yes, I'd be happy to!" said Harry excitedly, his wariness completely gone from his heart.

"Excellent. Now that it’s settled, it's time for us to eat breakfast," Marvolo stands up and drawing the curtains using his wand to let the morning light peek through the windows. "What are you waiting for, Harry? Let's go," he cocked his head to the door, signaling Harry to follow him.

And follow Marvolo he did. When he passed a mirror in the bedroom, Harry realized how filthy he is and how ugly his clothes are, and suddenly the feeling of shame washes over him.

"What's the matter, Harry?" Marvolo stops and turn his back before kneeling in front of him, his eyes locked with Harry's. "If this is about your clothes, I already ask my servants to prepare some clothes for you to wear after taking a bath—might be a little bit big since it was used to be mine, though. But I can promise you that I'll call a tailor as soon as possible to fit your clothes. Okay?"

He nods his head. It was creepy how Marvolo could understand him so well even though they just met. Was this an ability that Marvolo had, or was it just Harry being too easy to read? Maybe it was best not to think on these things too hard, he decided.

The corridor was grand and seemingly endless before him. Diamond patterned tiles guide them through the corridor walls made of white stone. There were tall arched windows on his left side; from it he can see the view of the spacious courtyard with its flowers and plants. They went down using an equally fancy stairs before entering the dining room.

"Is this a castle?" asked Harry.

"Well, technically it's a manor. You'll get used to it after a few days, I'm sure," answers Marvolo. The large wooden double doors in front of him automatically open before revealing the room inside.

The walls were covered with medieval tapestry depicting an old wizard with his pet snake doing various things that can only be called as a series of adventures. Positioned in the center of the room was the dining table; it was long and made from solid wood with beautiful carvings, and two-dozen chairs that surrounds it. A large branched candlestick hangs in the middle above the table.

Marvolo chose to sit at the head of the table while Harry chose to sit on the opposite end of it. There were already few empty trays and cutlery made of silver in front of him. As if to welcome him to the dining room, various foods appear one by one on the trays. There were scrambled eggs, fried eggs, sausages, bacon, baked beans, grilled mushroom, tomatoes, hash browns, and all kinds of bread plus jams were spread out in front of him. He never saw this much food in his life. Choosing to take the toast, scrambled eggs, bacon, and sausages to his plate, Harry began eating.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier, Marvolo. I really shouldn't do that," said Harry, putting his fork and knife down.

"No offense taken. It's normal to get upset in that kind of situation," said Marvolo, who was busy spreading butter to his toast. "Do you want to drink anything, Harry? Tea or juice perhaps?"

"Er, orange juice would be nice," he answers, and the glass beside him was filled with orange juice on its own. "It's just that I'm really tired after those things happened to me," said Harry.

"Like I said, it's understandable. Though I'd prefer if you didn't throw things at me when you're angry," he said with a smirk before taking a bite of his toast.

Harry winced. Marvolo was right; it was rude for him to do that.

"Tell me, Harry. Did your relatives always do horrible things to you?" asked Marvolo.

Harry stopped eating, and for the first time in his life told someone about how horrible his own relatives treated him. His teachers at school never believed him, opting to listen to Aunt Petunia and her lies instead. It was hard for Harry to convince his teachers because of how clever his aunt and uncle was, choosing to hit him where people can't see. Not to mention how they treated him like some kind of burden and only talk to him whenever they need Harry to do chores or to insult him. So he kept talking about his aunt and uncle, about Dudley and his gang, and about Aunt Marge and her dogs. At each and every story, Marvolo listened to Harry without interrupting him.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Harry. What they were doing to you was wrong. But muggles, non-magical people like your relatives, always act cruel towards things that they can't understand. They were afraid of you and your potential, Harry. They chose to push you around because it makes them feels powerful."

It was the first time that someone ever truly heard him without defending his relatives. His heart felt warm; maybe it wasn't a bad thing that he was being bought by Marvolo... He doesn't have to do chores or sleep in the cupboard anymore, and perhaps he might even get a full meal and decent clothes for once. Whatever happens to him, he would rather not go back to Privet Drive again for the rest of his life.

"But don't you worry, Harry. As long as you're with me, I won't let anybody touch or hurt you ever again."

Yes, Harry was more than sure now. He's going to stay with Marvolo, no matter what happens.

"Promise?"

"It's a promise, Harry," said Marvolo with a smile.


End file.
